


Flee from Memory

by still_lycoris



Category: Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-12-28 06:55:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21132497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/still_lycoris/pseuds/still_lycoris
Summary: Things that happened in the castle ...





	Flee from Memory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reine_des_corbeaux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reine_des_corbeaux/gifts).

_Written on a crumpled scrap of paper, torn from a notebook and screwed up into a ball_.

I am writing this because I do not know what else to do, how else to think. For I cannot think in this house, it is near impossible and putting words to paper helps, for it lets me cut through the fog and confusion of it all and see it as it is. And yet this, this is harder to write than some other things for I feel that I lost something, something important and I do not know if I can entirely grasp what.

The Count came to me, as is his wont, and we talked. He is a charismatic man, when he wishes to be. I do not know that I like him – I do not know that I ever liked him, even before this – but there is something about him that is smooth and warming and hard to resist. Or do I just try to excuse myself? When I only write this to myself (for I shall never allow Mina to see this, I could not, I could not allow _anyone_), surely I do not need to disassemble. Can I not be honest with myself? A man should always be honest with himself if he really wishes to be a man and I must try to stay strong, I must, for the shadows are close and I feel that I will go mad if I am not careful. Perhaps I shall go mad anyway – perhaps this was madness? I should like to believe that for then, I do not have to think with such shame. Madness is a disgrace of a type but it is not the same as other … things.

The Count spoke to me in that way of his, that calm and reasonable way that makes it hard to argue with him, even if you wish to. We talked and talked and I cannot remember what about for it paled in comparison to what happened later. I cannot – but I must write. I must write it!

The Count is cold to touch. I have noted this before and yet this time, it is different. This time it means more. His _mouth_ was cold, cold like stone, cold on my lips, on my throat. It was repulsive, it must have been and yet, yet it was not, it was _not_ for I did not stop it. Not just that, no, I – can I write this? – I enjoyed it. I think I even relished it. I held onto his shoulders so tightly that my fingers are still cramped from it. I _spoke_, I asked him not to stop, I _begged_ him not to stop, I was _wanton_. I want to believe it was some sort of spell, to believe that I am not that person. I can’t be, can I? I love Mina, I love her with all my heart and yet – 

He was so gracious afterwards, as though nothing strange had happened between us. He treats me as though I am a fixture here, as though everything is quite normal and it is not, I can see that it is not but I do not know what is happening and I must, I must try to find out. For I feel the Count does not mean to let me go, I feel this and there is a part of me that does not quite wish to run away from him. My life, my soul is out there and yet when I think of him touching me, so softly with those cold hands that made me feel such _fire_ \- 

I must get away. I must get away or I shall go mad.

Perhaps I am already mad. 

Perhaps there is no escape. For how does one flee from memory?

I am so afraid and I do not know what I fear the most. The Count? 

Or myself?


End file.
